And Winter Came
by istandleftjustified
Summary: "Aye, she was a flame of a different sort, but she burned just the same... The Lady of Ice and Fire."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire or anything affiliated with it! **

**A/N: Just a warning that I have taken some HUGE liberties with the saga. If you don't enjoy extreme plot changes, then please don't read any further. This fic is purely for entertainment purposes only, and there shouldn't be any spoilers due to the fact that I am straying so far from the original plot. Some quick notes, ages have been changed and people dead in the series may or may not be brought back to life for storytelling purposes only. This takes place in a time where winter is closing in, and yes, Sansa is still in King's Landing. I really hope those who read enjoy it! If you want to review, that would be super nice:) I am open to opinions and ideas and help of any kind! Okay, sorry for taking up your time. Enjoy!**

* * *

_Chapter One: Behind the Scars and Broken Things_

SANSA

_It was a world without color, and yet, the bleak surroundings of this godswood held more life than she could have ever thought possible. The very air seemed to speak to her; strange, faint murmurs that sighed in her ears, then faded away into nothing._

_ Though the wind blew, whipping her red locks about her face, the branches of the dark trees never so much as trembled. Within the grove, one tree stood out from the rest. It was all white, a weirwood, with its red leaves and red tears staining the otherwise desolate atmosphere. The eyes etched into the trunk reflected a hundred familiar faces, all of them staring at her, looking to her expectantly. Sansa looked down, overcome with shame for a reason that she could not seem to describe._

_ Underneath her feet, the ground shone as pale as the moon; the roots of the trees visibly twisting beneath like rivers of black. It wasn't cold and she wasn't afraid, but Sansa shivered all the same. This was so unlike any dream, but it felt so familiar, like she had seen this all before. It felt like home._

"Sansa..." _a quiet voice floated out from the depths of the trees. _

_Somehow, she knew exactly who it was. Her heartbeat quickened as she slowly turned her head, reaching up to push her wild hair from her eyes. "Lady?" Sansa's own voice came out in a single, shaking breath as she tentatively called out the name that had been frozen on her lips for years._

_The direwolf stepped out of the gloom, appearing all at once from behind the weirwood. Sansa's _dead_ direwolf. Lady was five times the size of what she had been when Sansa had seen her last; she couldn't help but stare in wonder as her beautiful, dead wolf padded nearer. Lady sat daintily on her haunches, towering over Sansa - yellow eyes meeting blue eyes. _

_"Lady..." Sansa said again, wishing to run and cling to the huge wolf. Tears welled in her eyes as she refrained; when she realized that this wasn't really real. "But... You are dead. This is a dream and you are still dead." _

"Let go, Sansa." _Lady's voice echoed through her head._ _"_Let go and you will _see_."

_"I can't!" A gasping sob escaped Sansa's lips, rattling her chest and she hugged her own arms tightly as she cried, "I don't have anything else. I need you Lady, I _need_ you!"_

_The great direwolf came closer and crouched so as to nuzzle against the girl's neck. Sansa reached out and buried her hands and face within the soft, grey fur. For a moment, she could almost pretend that everything was as it had been all those years ago, but that moment quickly melted away. A deep and bitter longing awoke inside of Sansa causing her stomach to turn and her heart to ache. _"I am no more," _the whispering voice echoed, _"This part of your life is no more. You are meant for something else. You were _always_ meant for something else."

_ This ghost that she held tight to felt like so many things. Winterfell, her childhood, her family - all of them - but they only felt like foggy memories of a dream. Winterfell had been destroyed. Her childhood long gone. Her family... dead and buried and rotting in the ground. It's gone. It's all gone_, _she thought to herself. "I have no one else," Sansa whimpered into Lady's fur, "Please don't leave me again."_

_She felt the direwolf sigh, _"Open your eyes and _see_, Sansa_. _We are of the same soul... I have never left you."_ Lady's ghost began to pull away and Sansa fearfully grabbed at her, only to grasp handfuls of air. _

_"Lady! Please don't leave me! Please, Lady, come back!" Sansa begged and pleaded with the wind, hot tears streaming down her pale cheeks._

_The gentle voice of the wolf passed through still lips as Lady drifted away, _"I am always with you. I have never left you. You must let go. Open your eyes, Sansa. I am right here always. Let go of me and _see." _

_ A rough gale of wind caused the godswood to vanish in a streak of red, and Lady disappeared with it._

* * *

A vision of falling swam into her eyes. The sensation of utter hopelessness, of dying before she ever hit the ground, melded with images of a great fire. It was a roaring, black and orange inferno that was swallowing everything. Faces of people long since gone from her life. When she passed through the billowing hell mouth though... the flames never so much as reddened her flesh. She was unharmed until the ground appeared before her, colliding against the walls she had built around herself and pushing all the breath from her body.

Waking up had never been easy as of late, but now it seemed near impossible. Sansa felt inhibited; her arms and legs rigid and her head pushed deep into the pillow. When a shuttering gasp, air filled her lungs once more. Her chest rose and fell painfully as it remembered how to breathe, and her muscles felt as if they were writhing beneath her skin. She sat up, her back arching and her hands twisting into the furs. Her breathing was still erratic and laborious when her vision finally focused. With a pounding head and stinging eyes, Sansa came out of the recesses of her mind completely and reentered Westeros - as heartbreaking and unpleasant as that was. Longing for comfort of some sort, Sansa reached behind her and pulled the downy pillow into her lap, folding her arms tightly across it as she drew it underneath her chin. It was damp. From tears or sweat, she knew not. _But I_ was_ crying,_ she remembered. The skin of her face felt tight and swollen, so she knew it must have been true. _  
_

From outside, tiny beams of grey light were slipping through the window, basking her chambers in a cold atmosphere. The fire in the hearth had burned out during the night, warmth abandoning the chamber like a stupid, frightened dog... but she was not cold. When she felt the beads of sweat rolling down her back in tickling trails, she kicked back the furs that covered her, allowing the chilly air to wash over her skin. Just as the flames had. Moving carefully to the balcony, she opened the doors wide, the cold air biting straight through the thin gown she wore, but she didn't care. Closing her eyes, Sansa breathed in the smells of an on-coming winter. King's Landing was truly a strange place now that the hot, summer weather had fled. It seemed quieter... Empty even. No one was out and about like they once were. The vacant village streets and market places were proof enough. Everyone chose to stay indoors. Snow had not yet fallen, but it wouldn't be much longer now. Soon, the whole of the seven kingdoms would be plunged into a waking dream of icy darkness. Sansa found she couldn't wait for that day.

It was the early morning hours in King's Landing, a time where the palace would still be fast asleep for a few precious moments longer. Sansa wanted nothing more than to be completely erased from their memories, just as she was seemingly erased from her brother's. She understood duty. She understood honor. But she realized all those years ago that she had never understood family. Now that Robb lay defeated and dead, her family all rested together, while she was made to suffer alongside the living. Looking down at the courtyard below, she couldn't even begin to count how many times she had thought to throw herself from this very ledge. There would be no one to stop her, and there would be no one to mourn her. Had it not been for those dreams about Lady in the godswood, she would have done it a very long time ago.

_This part of your life is no more. You are meant for something else. You were_ always_ meant for something else._

Was it a fool thing? To still hold tight to dreams? Dreams had never gotten her anywhere... except here. Her stupid, childish dreams got her right to King's Landing, and it only cost her an entire family. Sansa stepped closer to the railing of the balcony, leaning over the side with her arms spread wide to catch the wind. The cold, angry breath of the gods whipped at her fiery hair and pushed against her arms. She almost felt like she could jump up and fly away. In her mind, she could. In her mind, the first draft her wings caught would sail her high above the ground. She would fly over King's Landing and over the Narrow Sea, over the Free Cities and over the Shadow Lands. She would fly until she came somewhere completely unknown.

She would fly until she was forever out of reach.

She would fly until she found love again.

It was a strange and sad thing to her... To only be able to fly away in her sleep.

For the very first time in her life, she wished that she were truly a little bird.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire or any of its affiliations... Though I would gladly own Sandor, js.**

**A/N: This chapter was harder to write due to us never getting to read a Sandor POV (thanks grrm). On top of that, I really had to add a lot of information just so we can know where our beloved Hound's head is. It may be a bit boring. To make up for this failure, I will be writing an extra long chapter next week, and that should get the ball rolling from here on out. Also, I would like to thank AngelofDeath6, brahitsemily, magnus374, and Midnightdawn67 for taking the time to write me such lovely reviews:) I would also like to thank all of this story's followers and favorites and gah! You guys are just making me so happy! I really hope this chapter doesn't ruin it all. Alrighty then, this has been a very long note. Please enjoy this latest installment, and I hope you can find something pleasurable in it. Hopefully I'll get better at Sandor POVs in the future:)**

* * *

_Chapter Two: Every Hour Wounds_

SANDOR

He was a damned fool.

Taking a deep swig of the sour red that seemed permanently attached to his hand, Sandor Clegane leaned heavily into his horse. Stranger stopped and tossed his head back in irritation, nearly colliding with his master's face. In reply, Sandor kicked the horse hard in the ribs. Stranger heaved and growled, but kept walking; his black ears pushed flat against his massive head. Sandor was drunk, possibly even more drunk than the night he left King's Landing. A couple of times, he had been half-tempted to throw the flagon into the woods and be done with it forever, but that urge had been easily resisted. Obtaining the wine wasn't the chore, it was trying to keep memories from resurfacing that gave him trouble. He felt like he deserved it anyhow. As a reward for his many years of loyal service, he would drown himself in the sweet oblivion that his wine skin offered. Losing himself had always been the best part.

But now he was literally lost.

"Seven hells, where am I?" He grumbled. "Damned wine..." He wasn't quite sure where he was or how he had gotten there. The night of Blackwater, he had been so sure, so focused on getting away... But now every tree blurred together and every road looked exactly the same. "Sleep, I need sleep," Sandor muttered as pulled Stranger to a halt and tumbled off the mount's back. Clumsily, he moved through the bushes and away from the road.

Though the night and the cold were drawing nearer, he saw a little blot of color against the otherwise colorless ground. A tiny bird, all blue with a little orange beak and skinny, curled legs, and... dead. The little bird was dead. Sandor barked out a laugh so suddenly that Stranger backed away, stomping at the ground with his hoofs. "The little bird is _dead," _his shoulders shook and his eyes watered from the force of his laughter. "You got me there," Sandor lifted his face heavenward, "I always assumed gods could come up with better japes than that!" His laughing became more hysteric, "You sick _bastards._ That's right, you're all bastards! Every one of you!"

His amusement quickly turned, and he shouted loudly up at the empty sky, "If you _were _real, I'd shove my sword straight up your asses for all the shit you've caused. Congratulations for your biggest accomplishment, _me! _What a joke. Small wonder her life is such a hell if you're the gods she prays to." Sandor had no idea what he was saying now, but exhaustion overtook his fury. When he fell to the ground in a fur bundled heap, he chuckled darkly, "Damn you all." All that over a dead bird...

So far, he had succeeded at not ever thinking about that night in too much detail but,_ gods be damned_, he was out of wine. Sandor took one last pull out of the flagon, draining the last of it, but still held onto the skin tightly. Oddly enough, his mind felt clearer than it had before he screamed at the nonexistent gods like a madman. The obscurity had fled, and now Stranger was gone too, no doubt disturbed by Sandor's little performance. As he laid back, he felt the quiet descend about him and the retained memories came flooding back. It had been such a long time since he thought about it. The events of Blackwater were still foggy in his head, and what he _did _remember made him flinch. The green fire, the fucking imp, but most of all... the little bird. The one act that could have redeemed him had only turned him into a bigger monster than what he was before. Her reaction to his chivalry had nearly sent him over the edge.

He had wanted to scream at her. He had wanted to shout at the top of his lungs and beat his hands against stone until they were bloody and numb. This girl, this _little _girl, made feel things he had long since buried. Kindness, acceptance... Everything that no one had ever thought to show him, because he was a dog. He used to embrace this, the fear he could put into the eyes of others, but her fear brought him no happiness. Only self-loathing.

_Slender fingers on his burnt face... after all he had done to her, after all that he had said. She touched him, was looking straight at him, __and he was holding a dagger to her pretty throat._

No.

None of that happened. It wasn't real, it couldn't have been real. The _Hound_ would have never done anything so stupid. It had to have been the wine. He had been drunk and reeling and vulnerable and the gods saw fit to torture him in such a way. He deserved it anyhow. Sandor Clegane deserved to be dragged through every pit of the bottomless seven hells. And yet...

_Wide eyes stared up at him, looking from one side of his face to the other. Those fingers cupped his cheek tenderly, unflinching._

If that was a punishment, he had certainly endured worse.

_He never felt the tears until her hand twitched against his skin. The warm wetness that slipped from his eyes slid slowly down her pale wrist, disappearing under her sleeve in clear trails that reflected the dancing, green wildfire outside. She had gasped. It was a tiny, ghost of a noise, but he had heard it, and he wanted to hear more._

Sandor cursed himself and the gods and the flagon of wine in his fist for the umpteenth time.

_"Little bird," he heard the words, but he wasn't sure if they came from his mouth. He had nearly considered doing something that would have ruined him, no... ruined _her,_ forever. He was disgusted and he left, ripping off his kingsguard cloak and dropping it on the floor. Sandor Clegane was no better than the rest of them._

He left her and that was the best thing to do. Now it was time to stop thinking about Sansa Stark. She was gone, out of his life, and she was going to be queen. There would be others to protect her. It wasn't his duty, it had never been his duty. _And yet you came to her anyway_, a voice inside him chimed in. It was a voice he hadn't heard in a long time... It sounded a lot like a boy who still believed in the honor of knights. It sounded like the boy who melted away in the flames a long time ago. "Aye, so I did," Sandor sighed up at the sky that was gradually filling with stars. He would have taken her north like he promised, but he supposed that having her along would be a tantalization far more enticing than wine. What he did was for the best. He had to believe that.

North was still the destination, to the Wall perhaps. There wasn't anywhere else to go. Robb Stark was no longer an option since the whole Red Wedding business, and Stannis Baratheon would sooner see Sandor's ugly head on a spike. The decision was easy. Besides, they say the Night's Watch took anyone, regardless of past crimes. However, he was a Clegane as well as a Lannister dog, both of which seemed worse than crimes according to... Well, everyone.

Sandor rested his head against the trunk of a tree and sighed. North he would go, and a man of the Night's Watch he would become. With winter being so near that you could practically _taste _it in the air, he decided they wouldn't refuse anyone who was actually willing to take the black. It wouldn't be so bad, but wasn't the Wall where that Jon Snow was? Sansa Stark's bastard brother?

"Damn," he murmured sleepily. So much for completely erasing her from memory.

As he drifted off into a doze, he suddenly remembered something else about the Night's Watch. It was something he couldn't believe he had forgotten. "Vows," he said distastfully, opening his eyes to the inky darkness of night, "I would have to recite that fucking oath."

"Nonsense," a sudden voice answered from behind. Sandor instinctively reached for his sword, but a blow to his head caused lights to flash in his eyes and he fell headlong into the cold ground.

"What in the seven..." he managed to gasp out. His head pounded ferociously and there was a faint ringing deep in his ears. Reaching blindly for the sword once more, he realized angrily that it was still on Stranger's back. When he tried to get up, a hard foot came into contact with his gut, sending Sandor sprawling once more.

Rolling over, he was able to get a look at his attacker. A tall man who wore plain, boiled leather holding a torch in one hand and a club in the other stood above him, a smug smirk drawn across his face. There were others about him, each looking a bit uncertain. The tall man made a gesture and four others came to bind Sandor from behind; they were bandits most like. Joke was on them though. Sandor had nothing worth stealing.

"My, my," the tall man said as Sandor's hands were tied behind him, "won't you be a grand surprise, Hound. I'm glad we can save ya from that oath, whatever it may be. Lord Beric will be mighty pleased that we be killing two birds with one stone tonight."

Before Sandor could react, a bag smelling of ashes and piss was pulled roughly over his head and he was dragged to his feet. As they moved, Sandor remained silent. He had a feeling that he knew exactly what this was about.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire or any of the characters involved.**

**A/N: As promised, here's an extra long chapter that I hope you all enjoy! Also, this chapter takes place a few hours before the chapter two. And... if this is sloppy, please forgive me. I will refrain from doing insanely long, information filled chapters in the future if it's overkill. Leave me reviews, because it's the cool thing to do:)**

* * *

_Chapter Three: Those Who Wait_

SANSA

She was ignored but not entirely forgotten it seemed.

When she received a summons from the tower of the hand, Sansa wondered what else the Lannisters could possibly want with her now. She tried to remember if she had done anything that could have angered the king, to which the answer was no. Arya might have been proud to know how elusive her elder sister had become.

Though panic-stricken, she politely asked the Lannister guard to give her a couple of moments to ready herself. When the guard nodded his head, Sansa shut the door and turned to Shae who was busy stoking a fire in the hearth. While she waited for her handmaid to finish, Sansa paced the room nervously, stopping only to look out her window or to look at the large cedar chest beside her bed. Did they find out that she had kept it? It was the only thing she had done recently that she knew she shouldn't have. How would they have known? No, she decided. No one had been through that chest in months. It held all of her summer silks, and those were no longer suitable to wear in such weather. No one could possibly know about it, but she was still at a loss as to what Tywin Lannister could mean to ask for her.

"Have I done something wrong?" Sansa finally asked, in which Shae's reply was a small shrug of her tanned shoulders.

"Not that I can recall, my lady," the handmaiden said in her thick Lorathi accent.

Sansa once again began to pace the room irritably, "I just don't see why they won't let me go. Joffery is marrying Margaery tonight, they don't need me anymore. Why won't they just let me leave?" she spoke mainly to herself, but it was Shae who answered.

"And where would you go?" the Lorathi girl stood, brushing her hands against the winter gown she wore. Shae's wide, brown eyes held pity behind them, something Sansa didn't wish to see. "You were told of what happened to your home," Shae continued, "and your family - "

"I don't want to go to Winterfell," Sansa snapped a bit harshly. Shae sighed and turned around to straighten the bedclothes which were still strewn about from that morning. Shamed, Sansa changed her tone, "What about the Free Cities?" she suggested, "It would be warm there, and that is where you are from, is it not?"

Shae shook her dark head, "That is no place for a girl like you, my lady," she replied.

"I have no where else to go."

"Then you must stay."

The matter was dropped as Sansa was silenced.

"You did not sleep well last night," Shae observed pointedly, "Did you have more dreams?"

"I did," Sansa confessed sheepishly.

Shae clicked her tongue as she continued to make the bed. "I will fetch you some dreamwine for tonight," she said it in a way that left no room for objection. "These dreams cannot be good for you." Sansa did not want to admit that her handmaiden was probably right. After the dreams are done, she always feels so exhausted and frail and uncomfortable. Like she was forced into a too-small skin that was not her own. It was beginning to wear on her; she could feel it, but she never discussed these points with Shae, and prayed that she would never have to.

A sharp rap on the door made the both of them jump and Sansa suddenly remembered the guards that were waiting outside her chamber. "Are you ready yet?" an impatient voice called brusquely from behind the door.

Sansa donned her own armor as she stepped into the corridor. "I am prepared, my lord," she said softly with her eyes downcast and her hands clasped in front of her. _The ground will not break me, _she encouraged herself, _I am still a Stark._ She used to tell herself to be as strong as Winterfell, to be as brave as Robb, but Winterfell was burned and Robb was killed. Now, she only wished to be as untouchable as fire. The guard nodded down at her and led the way with his comrade. Shae offered Sansa a reassuring smile as she was left behind. Swallowing hard, Sansa looked straight ahead at the backs of the two identically dressed guards. Gold and black and crimson. These were the colors of her cage, the colors that bound her. _Lannisters, _she thought bitterly, _always Lannisters. _

There was a time when she was almost happy in King's Landing, back when promises of Highgarden were presented and a good marriage match was in sight. That all felt like ages ago now. Margaery Tyrell had offered such comforting words and tender smiles, they had shared laughs and secrets and spent most nights chatting away. When Margaery's grandmother suggested a marriage between Sansa and one of her grandsons, the two girls had been overjoyed at the prospect of becoming sisters... And that very brief time of contentment kept Sansa optimistic about her future. Who had Olenna Tyrell wanted her to marry? Garlan? Or was it Willas? It didn't matter anymore. Dreams of having a family again had been lost with her past dreams of becoming a queen. It was all buried beneath abuse and degradation and now even Margaery had nothing to do with her. The girl who had obtained Sansa's love and esteem so easily disappeared with the rest.

_Except Shae, _she reminded herself, _Shae is still here._

It was a long walk to the tower of the hand, and most of it was passed in silence. The two Lannister guards that acted as escort barely acknowledged her, for which she was entirely grateful. Whenever Joffery would summon her, a member of the Kingsguard would be the usual usher. The leers and remarks she would receive from them made her feel even less a lady than when they would beat her. Time had left her thinking that her honor was already gone. Every member of the Kingsguard had harmed her, at least once.

_The Hound never did._

The whispering thought came out of no where and evoked an ill tingle to set low in her stomach. No, he had never hurt her, not really anyway. Frightened her, yes. Grabbed her, yes. Kissed her goodbye... yes.

And those were thoughts better saved for dreams.

The steps of the great tower ended and she was now in Lord Tywin's solar. The hand's personal council chamber adjoined the solar that was engulfed in Lannister crimson and Sansa could see that the door was open; like a lion's mouth. Her escorts took their posts beside the entrance and one of them motioned for her to carry on. She curtsied and smiled at them, a courtliness regarded with mild confusion by the guards who hesitantly managed to bow back. Without a word, Sansa turned and made her way to the smaller chamber where Tywin sat at a great desk, concentrating solely on the parchments in front of him.

When she was not immediately noticed, she cleared her throat delicately.

Lord Tywin glanced up from his work, "Lady Stark," he greeted her in a voice that was not unkind, but made her stomach twist all the same. Maybe it was the title he addressed her with. Lady Stark was a claim that should have belonged to her mother for many more years. "You may enter," Tywin permitted before he turned his attention back to the many documents on his desk.

When Sansa fully entered the chamber, she was surprised to see Jaime Lannister lounging in the chair opposite his father's desk. Ser Jaime had returned to King's Landing just a few months ago, before the cold set in. He arrived dirty and haggard and one hand less... Now he was back the way he had been before. He looked just the same as he did when Sansa had first caught a glimpse of him at Winterfell, only now a golden hand adorned the wrist his right hand used to be attached to. Sansa had never spoken to Jaime Lannister in all her life, and he had certainly never sought to make her acquaintance either. His very presence made her uneasy. Whether or not it was because he was a Lannister, she could not say.

Regardless, Sansa curtsied politely. "Lord Lannister, Ser Jaime," she addressed each man in turn and then stood with her fingers laced together, waiting.

Jaime rose to his feet, wearing a small grin. "She uses 'Ser Jaime' to greet me," he sounded amused, "I haven't heard that one in a while." The golden knight gestured to the now empty chair with his golden hand. "Please, have a seat, Lady Sansa."

She obeyed with a quiet word of thanks.

When she looked back to Tywin, he was watching her studiously. His stare made her uncomfortable. "You are a courteous girl," the lord began, "You are not at all to blame for your family's blatant actions toward my grandson."

Sansa was unsure of how to respond. "I am pleased you think so, my lord." It was all that she could manage.

"You have been put in a most unfavorable position," he continued, "The Starks and the Lannisters have never bore love for one another, and you have every right to be wary, but duty demands that you play your part."

A terrible, sinking feeling sent a cold shiver up Sansa's spine. In order to keep her voice from shaking, she had to inhale deeply. "I am loyal to King Joffery as well as the royal family, my lord," she recited with practiced precision, "I will be happy to do whatever needs to be done." _Words of survival, nothing more, _she told herself. Courtesy was her armor, compliancy was her weapon. The kingdoms expected her to play her part? Then she would, and she would play it flawlessly. _  
_

"Excellent," Tywin's smile had no warmth behind it, "you do the royal family a great service."

"And what service will that be, my lord?" Her question had more bite behind it than intended. If Lord Tywin noticed, he didn't show it, but Sansa saw Jaime smile and turn to look out the window.

"I will be blunt, my lady. You will marry within the fortnight, once the new king and queen's wedding celebrations have ceased."

Sansa felt nothing, said nothing. Just waited for him to finish.

"You will marry my son."

_He means to marry me to Lord Tyrion. _Still nothing.

"Allow me to be plain in my intentions," Tywin progressed, "You are, by right, the heir to Winterfell since you have no remaining family. Through this _political _match, the second son you bare will inherit Winterfell and all of its surrounding lands."

_I am to give birth to Lannisters... and a Lannister shall control Winterfell. _Her thoughts were spinning wildly through her head and she tried to settle them, but when they turned to the act she would have to perform with Tyrion Lannister, she finally felt something, and it was disgust. Lord Tywin still spoke, but his words melded together, and Sansa found herself feeling naked and vulnerable in his presence. Had the window been open, she would have thrown herself through it to fly or to die, the latter of which seemed more likely. Either way, she would be far away from here.

" - leave for Casterly Rock soon after."

Sansa's eyes flicked back to Lord Tywin then, "Pardon, my lord?"

Tywin leaned back in his chair, "I said you and Jaime will leave for the east after your wedding night. He will hold the castle in my stead and become lord should anything happen to me."

_Not Lord Tyrion... _her mind was exhausted_, Has Ser Jaime resigned from the Kingsguard then? So, my first son will be heir to Casterly Rock, and my second to Winterfell._

A twinge of embarrassment flushed her cheeks.

"Now then," Tywin said as he picked up his quill and dipped the tip in a bottle of ink, "I will make the announcement tonight during the wedding feast. My lady, if I may beg your forgiveness, I must attend to other business. I expect to see you at the wedding tonight, yes?"

"Of course, my lord." She felt numb.

"Good," his green eyes glanced up at Jaime who still stood at the window. "Jaime, would you escort your intended back to her chambers? No doubt she wishes to prepare for tonight."

"Certainly, father," Jaime turned and came to Sansa. "My lady?" he offered her his left hand and she took it. Together, they took leave of the hand's chambers and began the long descent down the stairs of the tower. Sansa noticed a difference in Jaime's demeanor. While with his father, the knight seemed carefree and composed, but now he was detached and cold. His eyes never strayed and he never once spoke. They traversed the entire way without saying a word.

It gave Sansa the time to try and wrap her head around her new situation. The man beside her was going to be her husband. Jaime Lannister, the man who had brutally injured her father, and fought against her brother. Her emotions seemed to twist into one; revulsion and anger mixed together with relief and shock.

Sansa knew one thing for sure.

Her walls were crumbling.

* * *

The night had been growing darker earlier as of late. Every candle within Sansa's chamber was lit in order to see properly as she was prepared for the king's wedding feast. Disrobing and climbing into the steaming bath, Sansa could finally feel herself relax in the soapy, lavender scented water.

"And you don't even care?" Shae asked as she came into view, arms laden with various bottles of perfume and oils.

Sansa opened one eye to peer at her handmaiden from over the side of the tub, "I can only assume that you are talking about my engagement."

"Obviously," Shae said as she dropped some liquid from a tiny, pink bottle into the bath. Ever since Sansa had shared the details of her meeting with the hand of the king, Shae had been fuming.

"I have a duty," Sansa answered simply, closing her eye again.

Shae said nothing more as she massaged oil into Sansa's pale skin. "I suppose it doesn't hurt that he's handsome," the Lorathi said quietly after a while.

"I don't care about that."

"No, but I wish you did, my lady." Sansa looked questioningly at her handmaid. Shae drew her lips in a thin line as she rose from the side of the tub and moved to fetch a drying cloth.

"What do you mean?" Standing up, Sansa stepped out of the bath. Gooseflesh erupted across her skin as she stood naked in the chill air.

Shae wrapped the downy fabric about her, "You have just changed, that's all," she said quietly as she patted Sansa dry.

"I have not changed," Sansa smiled trying to reassure the dark-haired girl.

"And I am not stupid," Shae said as she removed the towel and began to dress Sansa, "I never hear you sing anymore. You used to sing often."

"There is nothing to sing about." Sansa was eager for this conversation to be over, "How do you like my new gown for the wedding?" she asked with fake enthusiasm.

Her handmaiden sighed sadly as she helped Sansa slip into the dress, "It is very pretty, my lady."

A dark feeling of despondence washed over Sansa then. Shae was right. She was not the girl she once was, but she had already grieved for that lost part of herself a long time ago.

She wished she could sing as she once had, but all the freedom she had ever felt was gone. Shae couldn't understand, she was born in a free city to sing and dance as she pleased, to travel as she pleased. To do whatever as she pleased.

Sansa didn't have that, and she never would. When she was born, her life had already been planned out for her. Once upon a time, that was enough for her to be happy. But now, everything that had truly made her happy was claimed by the frozen ground. Despite her burning desire to join them there, she couldn't. The dreams had to mean something. Not the dreams about knights and songs, but the _real _dreams. They were proof enough that the gods had not abandoned her just yet.

As she prepared for the wedding, there was still one shining light in the midst of it all.

Even if she had to be forced into a political union with Jaime Lannister, at least she wasn't marrying Joffery Baratheon.

* * *

The wedding was beautiful, but it was short.

With the weather being what it was, the lords and ladies in attendance near froze to death in the Great Sept of Baelor. With chattering teeth, the Grand Septon pronounced Joffery Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell husband and wife, and then it was time to walk back to the Red Keep for the marriage feast. Her betrothed remained distant throughout the entire ceremony, but chose to escort her back to the castle. As far as the court was concerned, she was promised to no one, and it needed to stay that way until Lord Tywin made released such information.

Upon entering the Red Keep, they all shed their cloaks and made their way to the hall where the feast would be held. Perhaps she didn't notice in the sept, but the gown she wore brought her more attention than she had intended. It was a deep blue with silver stitching throughout. The neckline curved softly about her shoulders and the tops of her breasts, with sleeves that draped down her arms and past her wrists. Instead of the typical southern fashion of King's Landing, the seamstress who was assigned to Sansa made the gown more in a northern style, having it lace tightly in the back. Shae didn't even fix Sansa's hair the way all the southern ladies did. Loose, copper waves cascaded down her back, past her waist with the top half plaited and tied behind her head. A couple of long, curly strands framed her face and neck. It was very similar to the way Lady Catelyn always wore her hair. The thought made Sansa surprisingly happy.

Within the feasting hall, there was so much noise as the nobles laughed and celebrated the king and queen. Sansa was seated right next to Jaime up on the dais where the rest of the royal family sat. When Cersei saw them enter together, her face was a mix of confusion and outrage that somehow tied together as a ferocious scowl. Sansa feared that the former queen regent might be provoked to cause a scene, but Cersei was intervened by Tyrion Lannister who appeared beside her with a full goblet of wine in his fist.

With a pounding head, Sansa tried to keep smiling as she glanced around the hall; taking great care to not let her eyes wander in Cersei's general direction. The food was abundant, as was the wine, but none of it improved her thoughts. She had remembered when a great celebration like this would excite her. Now she found it completely unnecessary and not in the least bit genuine. These people were not here for their king. They were here for his prosperous table. That much was blatantly obvious as the wine poured freely up and down the tables.

Out from the corner of her eye, Sansa saw Tywin lean forward slightly and nod his head at the a page dressed in Lannister crimson who stood at the base of the dais. It was time. Why Lord Tywin wished to reveal the engagement between herself and his son on this night still made no sense to Sansa, but she supposed it didn't have to.

"Lords and ladies of the court," the page boomed over the crowd, "the hand of the king, Lord Tywin Lannister!" Silence fell over the hall as Lord Tywin stood at his seat on the dais. Sansa glanced nervously at Joffery who didn't seem to be paying much attention as he and the Queen Margaery spoke in low voices to one another.

Lord Tywin smiled his strange, tight smile before those in the hall, "It has been a troublesome time for the realm, what with the war and the on-coming winter," he began grandly, "but these months have brought the crown numerous victories over those who sought to rebel. Through our perseverance, we have prevailed against our adversaries and brought peace back into the seven kingdoms!" Applause erupted throughout the grand hall, cheers echoed in Sansa's head painfully. Tywin raised his hands to din the noise, "More victories have befallen upon my family for the good of the realm on this very day, and while I do not wish to take away from my grandson's wedding feast, this most pleasing announcement must be made."

Every whisper died down completely and the hall was eerily silent. Even Joffery looked up curiously as the whole court seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. "My son," Tywin continued, "has been slightly... inconvenienced as he fought for the crown in this war, but his hindrance is for the betterment of the royal family." Sansa's eyes secretly drifted to Jaime. His jaw was set tightly, his green eyes downcast, and his skin somewhat flushed; from wine or embarrassment, Sansa could not say. She felt a pang of pity for the one-handed knight. He was practically being degraded in front of the entire court; a pain that Sansa could relate to. She had thought to reach out and try to comfort him, but she decided that the last thing Jaime Lannister would want was to be sympathized by a seventeen year old girl.

"Jaime has agreed to fulfill his role as heir to Casterly Rock, setting aside his duties as Commander of the Kingsguard, and taking up a wife." Sansa could have been mistaken, but Lord Tywin looked genuinely happy as his speech continued.

"I took it upon myself to secure my son a suitable wife, and now that the business in the north is settled, I feel that this young lady will make an excellent match."

Here it came. Sansa took a deep breath.

"Time and time again, she has shown unfaltering loyalty to the crown and the realm, despite her _unfortunate _relations."

Sansa's eyes flicked around and she noticed Cersei Lannister catch on rather quickly. The ex-queen's golden head whipped around to glare at Sansa in disbelief. Quickly, Sansa moved her eyes to her lap. She could hear the murmurs ripple through the crowd below the dais as well as her own heartbeat beating in her ears. She felt incredibly lightheaded and for a brief moment, she thought she might faint right there at the table, but Jaime Lannister's hand suddenly appeared to grasp her own. She looked up at him in uncertainty, but he grinned crookedly at her. It was strange how reassuring it was, but then Sansa realized he was probably just as uncomfortable with the whole situation as she. She managed a small smile back at him.

"I am very pleased to welcome Lady Sansa Stark into the Lannister family," Tywin said, gesturing to where she and Jaime sat. There were happy cheers all around, but Joffery looked enraged. Angrily, the king whispered something to one of his Kingsguard who, in turn, moved to hesitantly to speak in Tywin's ear as he retook his seat. Tywin nodded, his smile disappearing as quickly as it had come.

As the festivities below continued, the attitude on the dais seemed to sour notably. Quietly, Sansa sipped at her wine and tried to ignore the sinister looks she was receiving from both Joffery and his mother. After Ser Meryn came to talk in Jaime's ear, he leaned over to speak to Sansa, a distraction she was happy to have.

"It seems the king has called a... family meeting," Jaime spoke to her in a low voice, "His grace demands that an important matter must be discussed tonight."

The wedding feast ended for the royal family much earlier than intended. Everyone seated on the dais scattered while everyone below hardly seemed to notice.

When it was time, two helmed white cloaks led them to the throne room where most everyone waited already. Cersei and Tyrion stood below the steps while Joffery paced to and fro before the iron throne. His Kingsguard stood guard beside their king. It was odd to not see the bulking shape of the Hound among them.

"Your grace," Tyrion said crossly, still holding the wine goblet in his hand, "do you not find this unnecessary?"

Cersei sighed, "You should not trouble yourself over these things, love. Go and be with your bride on this night - "

"She can wait," Joffery spat, "but this matter will to be discussed now! Where is grandfather?"

As if on cue, Tywin Lannister strode into the throne room with Olenna Tyrell at his side.

"Why did you not discuss this with me first?" Joffery shouted out at him loudly, taking a few menacing steps forward. "I am the king!"

"Lady Olenna and myself had not thought it wise to bother the _king_ with such trivial matters."

Joffery's face was turning a frightening shade of purple, "Sansa Stark is a hostage! Her brother - "

"Is dead," Tywin finished, "and no longer a threat to your reign. Lady Stark will marry into our family and perform her duty, as you will perform yours. In fact, isn't that where you should be right now?"

"Father, this is madness," Cersei interrupted "Jaime cannot just leave his responsibilities as Knight Commander. He is part of the Kingsguard!"

"I am no longer part of the Kingsguard, sister," Jaime told her, "Unfortunately, I have misplaced my sword hand. Did you forget already?"

"My confusion lies elsewhere," Tyrion pinched the bridge of his nose, "The only thing I wish to know - and no offense to you, my lady - but why was this matter brought to Lady Olenna?"

The Queen of Thorns smiled, "No offense has been taken, Lord Tyrion."

Tywin spoke indifferently, "I took Sansa Stark away from her, and so I had to promise her someone else. Since Lady Stark will not be marrying Lady Tyrell's grandson, Cersei will."

The throne room was silent for only an instant.

"No," Cersei shook her head, "No, I will not."

The conversation turned into a huge blur of hysterics that Sansa did not wish to follow. Honestly, she had no idea why she was even present. The former queen regent refused and shouted and finally began to beg. Lord Tywin did not so much as budge. It was settled that Cersei would marry Highgarden's heir, Willas Tyrell, while she was still fertile.

A couple of times, Cersei looked towards Jaime, but he never once met his twin's eyes. As a last resort, she turned to rely on her son. Joffery watched everything unfolding before him with mild amusement. Sansa wondered if he enjoyed his mother's distress. She decided that no one could possibly be that cruel.

Finally, Cersei was sedated and Sansa was once more forgotten in the shadows of more important things. Tywin glanced up to the king who seemed to be relatively calm. "I suggest that we all part for the evening, your grace," he said as he began to walk away, "_if _it please you." It was amazing how Lord Tywin could simply say things of that nature! Sansa could barely say, 'Yes, your grace,' without getting beaten in the process. It was difficult to discern who ruled over who. It seemed to Sansa that Lord Tywin was the true king here.

"Of course," Joffery nodded at his Kingsguard and they all dispersed save for two who trailed behind their king. Jaime offered Sansa his arm once more and she took it again, feeling absolutely exhausted.

Cersei glowered and turned to walk out, but Lady Olenna caught her by the arm, "You may as well begin preparations for Highgarden," she suggested cheekily, "I am sure you will _love _it there." In an angry swish of red skirts, the former queen pulled away from the old woman and stalked away, taking one last scathing look at Jaime. Lady Olenna simply grinned to herself and took her leave.

Tyrion came to stand near Jaime and Sansa, "Cold northern winds must do strange things to southern heads," he mused.

"I have had conversations with fools that made more sense than... whatever this was," Jaime agreed.

His dwarf brother laughed heartily, "One thing I have learned about court is that it's full of fools, and better dealt with if you have wine in the belly." Tyrion's eyes flicked to Sansa and he bowed, "You look very lovely, my lady. Pardon the sows in King's Landing who don't remind you of that everyday."

Sansa was oddly touched by the imp's words, "Thank you, Lord Tyrion," she smiled sweetly. She may have imagined it, but Jaime's eyes seemed to glance her way.

"Now, I must take leave of you both," Tyrion began to hobble away, "Goodnight to you, and welcome to our _loving _family, Lady Sansa."

* * *

The Red Keep was quiet and dark and cold. Sansa and Jaime walked side-by-side, but she had pulled her hand from the crook of his arm shortly after leaving the throne room. The entire trek was full of an awkward silence that lasted up until they reached her chamber door.

"My lady, I must speak to you," Jaime's voice was odd-sounding and hollow.

She turned to look at him, "Of course, my lord."

He ran a hand through his golden hair. His entire countenance was off and it made Sansa wary. "I cannot pretend that I am completely blameless in the fall of your house. And... just know that this is not the kind of man I am. I have made mistakes. So many mistakes."

Sansa couldn't help but reach out and touch his arm lightly, "It's alright," she said gently, "you don't have to - "

"Yes I do," he shook his head, "I have done things... terrible things to you and your family. Things I will regret until the end of my days."

She drew her hand back, "What things?" The question sounded absurd. She had a feeling that she already knew what it was.

"I... your brother, Bran was his name, yes?"

"What things?" She asked again, tears pricking the back of her eyes, threatening to fall at any moment.

"His fall..."

Sansa choked back a sob, she couldn't believe what he was telling her. The look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know, everything she never wished to know. That look on his face... She backed away from him, back into the shadows, her eyes wide and fearful.

Jaime caught her arm, "Lady Sansa, I need you to understand me. After the things I've done, I need a chance to redeem myself. I need _you _to give me this chance. I do not expect your love, nor should you expect mine. I cannot promise you happiness, but I can promise you protection. I made a vow that I would see you safe, and this is the only way I can fulfill it. Whatever has happened to you here will never happen again. I will kill the first man who mistreats you, I swear it." Sansa froze, tears brimmed her eyes. She had once heard a similar speech. Jaime looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to say anything. Her walls trembled under the weight of his stare, and for the first time in a long time, she discarded her armor.

"I do not wish to hear the reasoning behind your actions. Not when we are wed, not when we welcome our first child, never. You think you can protect me? Many others have claimed the very same thing, but failed. And they even had both of their hands," the words rolled off her tongue easily, but her voice started to break, "None of it matters. My family is gone and there are not enough promises in the world to fill the hole they left behind." Jaime's eyes held pain behind them and she was glad, but only for a short moment. When his grip on her arm loosened, she pulled away, not feeling proud at all.

"Thank you," she whispered with a pained curtsy and a quivering smile, "thank you for being so kind to me, Ser Jaime."

With that, she retreated into the chilly darkness of her chamber.

When the door shut behind her, she latched it quickly. She could risk no one coming inside and seeing her in such a state. The tears could not be stopped. More than anything, Sansa wished to scream and let go of all that she was pushing back. She wanted to go home. She wanted Winterfell. She had been given the chance, and she refused.

She broke then. Sobs shook her as she knelt to dig through the large wooden chest at the base of her bed. Right when her fingers brushed the cloak, she grasped it and pulled it across her trembling shoulders. _A knight's cloak, _she told herself, _pretend that a true knight gave this to you... for protection. _Almost immediately, she felt her tumultuous thoughts slow as she sat in the dark. The white wool of the white cloak was bloody and burnt and wrinkled from where Sansa had bunched it in her hands. How long ago was the Battle of Blackwater Bay? The memories of that night still played fresh in her mind whenever she allowed herself to think about them. She pulled the Kingsguard cloak tighter around her body and breathed in deeply; she could still smell _him, _and it was a comfort, as odd as that was.

The Hound - no, Sandor Clegane - had always been a mysterious creature to her, but her impression of the man had quickly sank away into bewilderment the night of Blackwater. He came specifically to her in the dark, during the battle, and offered to take her home. What had happened after that? A song? That was where the memories faded away into a fog, but one thing she did remember perfectly was that he had kissed her and then he left her.

She shivered underneath the cloak and rose shakily to her feet to tuck herself into bed, remaining completely dressed. The entire day had been emotionally trying and all she wanted to do was forget. She couldn't run away from her duty, she couldn't run away from the Lannisters, but she could certainly run away in her sleep, and that would have to suffice. Perhaps she would dream of Lady again tonight.

The rustle of movement in the darkness nearly stopped her heart.

Frozen in fear, those quick hands grabbed her easily and she didn't even have time to scream before a massive hand came to cover her mouth. The hand smelt of ash and blood. This was all so familiar. For a mad moment, she dared to hope. For an instant, the thoughts pounding in her head turned to songs and knights coming to rescue the maiden they loved. However unorthodox this might have been, her faith in the magic of the world had returned, but only for one _hopeful _moment. Deep inside, she knew there was no possible way it could be true.

"Lady Stark," a voice whispered, "please, we are not here to harm you."

_Lady Sansa? We? _That wasn't the Hound's voice. Quick as that, her world darkened once more.

"Trust us, my lady," the voice said low in her ear, "We were friends of your father's. Lord Beric only wants to see you safe, I promise. We've come to take you from this place."

She let them. Whoever _they_ were, she let them pull her from her bed and into a hole in the wall that had never been there before. There was no strength within her to protest. Whether or not these captors were friend or foe, Sansa didn't care. This was no flight to the Free Cities, but it was certainly a start.

With the white cloak still wrapped about her shoulders, Sansa Stark was finally freed from her gold and crimson gilded cage, and into the hands of another who could only promise safety.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones franchise. All rights are George R.R. Martin's.**

**A/N: Okay, wow, hey! It's been a while! The reason is because I kind of did a complete 360. Yeah, hate me later pls. Anyway, like I said, I'm taking this is an entirely new direction so I hope you enjoy this latest chapter! WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SOME UNNECESSARY BROODINESS! But I mean, that's just Jon Snow, amirite? Thank you all for the reviews and the reads because that's just awesome! Leave more if you want ;)**

* * *

_Chapter Four: Visions in Flame and Snow_

MELISANDRE

The fire danced before her gaze, spinning and hissing angrily in the cold darkness. She sat alone, shut up within the black stone of the northern castle. A storm was coming and she needed divine answers. In this solitude, her russet eyes roamed over the fire that burned brightly, watching the scenes that twisted within it.

_A great inferno, orange and black and wild, forming a wall of some sort. It was a fire wall that overshadowed the wall of ice. There were people behind the fire, in between the north and the south. Cheering people dressed in black and red who were safe behind this new wall. A faceless Azor Ahai held Lightbringer above his head, shouting praises to R'hllor. He held up the wall and banished all darkness._

Melisandre could feel her eyes moistening as she stared breathlessly. It was all so amazing beautiful. The prophecy was coming to be, just as the Lord promised. It was enough to make her run to the prince and tell him all that she had seen, but a sudden tendril of fire grazed across her face, demanding she pay attention. It felt frantic... fearful. The red priestess looked closer.

_The ice was not melting._

Grasping the sides of the wrought iron alter, Melisandre pushed her face deeper into the sputtering flame, trying to focus the dancing images. Those red hot fingers of light licked at her skin as she whispered into the blazing depths, begging for more...

_Another entered the vision then. A beautiful girl with hair the color of flame and skin as white as snow. She walked through the inferno, carrying the winds of the haunted forest and holding the weight of something that could not be seen. When she looked up, the ground shifted beneath them and a blistering chill crackled through the air. The girl's eyes were glowing. The color that radiated from them was a blue that should have never even existed. They were staring into the Great Other's eyes._

Melisandre tried to tear her eyes away, but the vision was not yet complete. The flames held her there, its caresses growing more violent, the heat becoming more and more unbearable.

_The girl's hair was fire, her blood was ice. She opened the palms of her hands and strode nearer, singing in an old tongue. Behind her, there appeared a giant who rode Death; dark and terrible he was, with a sword that screamed when it was swung through the air. There he fought with the wall made of fire. He slashed and roared and the fire began to die under his sword of black ice. _

_All the while, the girl sang high and sweet, bringing all to their knees. The sound of a million howling wolves ripped through the whole of the north and accompanied her voice, extinguishing three lives. When the singing stopped, shouts for R'hllor sounded from the mouths of snakes, but they were ignored. Azor Ahai fell to the ground and melted away._

_The ground shifted again when the girl opened her mouth once more. A feeling of dread rocked through the bodies of the faithful when she uttered the word. No, not just a word, but a name. A name that had never truly been spoken. A scream shattered the air when a wall of ice and fire came to swallow the light._

The red priestess fell away from the alter, chest heaving. Noticing a strange pain, she held her hands before her, seeing the searing burns from where she held the metal of the pyre. Reaching up, she felt the rough, screaming skin of her face. She was burned. The fire had burned her. No, that was impossible. When she stumbled to a mirror, the charred skin had disappeared and her flesh was flawless once more, like the burns were never even there. She noticed the jewel at her neck glowing softly, feeling a small prick of heat from beneath it. Stroking it gently, the red woman took a deep breath to regain her composure.

Melisandre turned her mind to the vision whose meaning was eluding her. The name spoken within it was a cursed name, never meant to be uttered by human lips, she knew that much. But that girl... was she even human? The Great Other shone bright through her eyes, and she spoke the dark language so easily. Was _she _the Great Other? Regardless, a vision had never terrified her so profoundly as this one did. The girl, whoever she may be, was the work of evil without a doubt. Still... A nagging feeling in the back of Melisandre's mind gave the impression that she knew who that girl was.

She moved away from the mirror. Lighting every candle in her chamber, she made sure the room was alive in a warm glow. It might have been a childish thing to do, but she didn't care. Darkness was beginning to wear on her, and she drew comfort from the light.

Standing in front of the old and blackened hearth, the red priestess threw a white handful of powder into the flames, stepping away slightly when they roared to life. There she offered worship to R'hllor, the Lord of Light. Her powers were stronger here at the Wall in the north, even the light was stronger. She could only take it as a good sign from the Lord. He had led her to the true Azor Ahai and soon everything else would come into place. Melisandre felt her mind start to find serenity in these thoughts. The fact that she was here could only mean that this vision she witnessed would not come to be. With her here at the prince's side, the outcome will be different. She herself was not in the vision... That had to mean something. The Lord was going to use her, she could _feel _it.

"This war will soon be resolved," Melisandre spoke Valyrian to R'hllor in a soft voice, "Soon, You will ascend and gather Your faithful and the world will be at peace forever." She smiled a small smile, but it soon faded away. The vision was still disconcerting. She needed one more answer.

Staring deep into the flames in the hearth, she sought revelation. Every now and again she would glimpse a flash of red hair, a flurry of snow, but not much of anything else. She stepped closer, praying and promising that her faith had not wavered, that she was one of the last faithful. Her prayers turned into a strange and unearthly song and she raised her hands before the hearth, closing her eyes and lifting her head. The fire swarmed about the room, a hot wind casting her hair about her face. She felt it then, a vision reawakening and she reopened her eyes; the red of them alive and glowing with the strength of light. The crimson jewel shone bright, scorching her pale and slender neck, sending intoxicating thrills of pleasure through her body. The fire all but jumped out of the hearth in the form of a giant, snarling wolf at that moment; passing right through Melisandre in a powerful burst.

It died after that. The fire crawled back into the hearth, shrinking down into naught but ashes. It was all she needed to realize... She needed to consult with Azor Ahai.

In a swish of crimson silks, Melisandre left her chambers and made for the Lord Commander's tower. When she stepped out into the icy cold, she could actually sense winter in the air. It wouldn't be much longer now. Despite it being the early hours of the morning, the air was as black as the castle; its walls and battlements melted into the inky blackness of the sky. One could hardly discern where the castle ended and the sky began. Even the Wall seemed to surrender to the dark. Melisandre quickened her steps through the empty, snow covered yard. It was not surprising to see that the Lord Commander's room was a glow. The newly discovered Azor Ahai was oftentimes restless, but he was not as loose lipped as Stannis Baratheon. Melisandre could see that he did not yet trust her completely.

When she reached the chamber door, she didn't bother to knock. Entering the room, she spied Jon Snow awake at the tower's window, staring out at the Wall.

"Lady Melisandre," he greeted her without so much as turning his head.

"My prince," she returned as she strode across the black stone to stand next to him. "You are troubled..." she said softly when he still refused to glance her way.

"I am always troubled," Jon Snow replied, "I can't seem to find sleep until I've seen promise of the sun."

"I understand," Melisandre looked out the window, out at the Wall that needed to come down. "Once you've seen what darkness holds, it is difficult to feel safe enough to shut one's eyes."

Lord Commander Snow looked at the red woman beside him. "You don't know what it's like out there," a slight anger laced his words, "One day, you might see the things I've seen and then you will _truly_ understand."

"Do you think me blind?"

"I don't know what to think anymore," Jon said truthfully, "All I know is that your god expects me to defeat an entire dead army with a burning sword. A sword that's not even in my possession."

Melisandre tipped her head slightly, "Is that what you fear? The Lord of Light will present you with Lightbringer when the time is right." She reached up to stroke his hair, "You are Azor Ahai, the Lord's chosen. You have the power to bring an end to the terrors that have plagued us. When the time comes, you will strike off the head of the darkness.

Jon looked away, "I can't even pretend that makes sense."

The red priestess moved her hand away stiffly, "Why do you question your faith on this night, my prince?"

Gripping the window sill, Jon's voice shook when he spoke, "My family is gone. All of them... How am I supposed to fight for a god who couldn't save them?"

Melisandre shrugged slightly, "It was not in His plan to save them."

"You say that so easily," Jon shook his head, Melisandre could see the glistening of tears in the corner of his eye, "They didn't deserve anything that happened to them. If your god couldn't see that, then He isn't a god worth saving either."

Melisandre grabbed Jon's shoulders and turned him to face her. The expression on his face showed that he was shocked at the strength that she possessed. "Who are we to question the acts of a god?" Her voice was low and harsh, her eyes burning with the intensity of fire itself. "It was not in his plan to save your family, but their deaths brought you to this point, did it not? The Lord of Light will make himself known through you. I know you have _felt _it, _sensed _it. You alone will reveal the face of god and in turn, save countless others!"

Jon tried to pull away, but the red woman held tight, "I have seen things that will come to pass, and now you must see them as well." Taking his hand, Melisandre led the Lord Commander to his hearth that already burned brightly.

"I'm sorry," Jon said quietly as she moved to stand behind him.

"I know." Melisandre did not know she would react as strongly as she did, but it was for the best. Placing her hands on Jon's arms, she rested her head on his shoulder, feeling her anger melt away. "Look into the fire," she whispered in his ear, "I will show you what I have seen."

The vision burned once more and Melisandre felt herself swallow hard. She didn't wish to hear that cursed name again, but Azor Ahai needed to see. Just as the girl in the flames passed through with her glowing eyes, she suddenly noticed that Jon Snow was shaking beneath her hands.

"No," he choked out. Melisandre felt him begin to resist and the vision blurred in and out. She held him still and cooed soothing nothings in his ear. He needed to see. He needed to know.

When the girl came back into focus and began to sing, Jon threw Melisandre off and backed away from the hearth and held his hands over his eyes. "No, no, no!" He chanted over and over again in a strangled voice.

"My prince, you need to see," Melisandre tried to reach out for him, "This is what will come to pass if we do not stop it. This is written it fire - "

"No! This is not happening!"

"That is the enemy! Look at your enemy!"

Jon spun around, his eyes dark and furious, "_That is my sister_," he seethed, "Those _things_ brought her back and, you know what? No. I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but I won't be part of it anymore, Westeros be damned." He shook his head and began to pace the chamber, "What is this? I can't... That can't be Sansa, oh gods, it can't be!"

Quietly, Melisandre stepped back in front of the hearth, looking back into the flames. Everything was starting to make sense now and a plan was already turning inside of her head. She was right. The Lord of Light put her here for a reason, and the reason was this.

"This can't happen," Jon continued to rant behind her, "If Azor Ahai is supposed to slay the darkness... If that's the darkness, then I'm not Azor Ahai. Do you hear me?"

"Sansa," she murmured softly, closing her eyes, "_Sansa Stark_." The fire danced about wildly, like a wind had passed through the room. Whispers in a foreign tongue echoed about the room and Jon was silenced. Shadows passed before Melisandre's lids and she raised them to stare intently into the fire.

"Lady Melisandre, what are you doing?"

She didn't answer him. The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch had seen her do this a number of times, but she knew it still made him uneasy. She supposed it didn't matter how many reassurances she gave him about being Azor Ahai. He would question her until the day he wields Lightbringer.

"She is alive," Melisandre grinned, "Praise R'hllor, I see it now."

"Sansa's alive?"

"She is not in King's Landing though," Melisandre continued, "She is with... Well, I could only describe them as vagabonds."

Jon came up beside her, "Is she safe? Have they hurt her?"

Melisandre frowned. The vision only offered a girl clinging tight to a man with fire above his head. Another priest of R'hllor. But... this priest felt different somehow. She could see motives in his head, but she could not decipher them. Nevertheless, it made her uneasy. Somehow they knew, or else they wouldn't have bothered.

"Is she safe?" Jon repeated.

The red priestess chose her next words carefully, "I fear she is in grave danger, my prince. If she is to remain with this group, she will turn into the abomination you saw."

"What can we do?"

Melisandre pondered her course of action. It was beyond the shadow of a doubt that she was meant to help in some way. If she didn't do this, then the vision would come true. She knew what must be done, but to tell the Lord Commander would mean her death instead.

"We must secure Sansa Stark. Allow me leave to retrieve your sister, my prince. With her here, we can prevent the turn."

"She won't become... that thing?"

"She will not."

"Then go," Jon commanded with a nod. "Go find her and bring her to me. To safety. If I can keep one of them alive..." The words stuck in his throat and he looked down at the ground. Melisandre placed her hand on his arm and rubbed it comfortingly.

"I will find her," she promised.

Jon nodded once more and Melisandre kissed his temple gently. Turning, she walked down and out of the tower to gather some men who were of the faith. It was better that the Lord Commander didn't know what had to be done. He would have never allowed it anyway.

As the sun slowly began to peek out from behind the mountains and clouds, Melisandre silently praised the Lord of Light for the new morning and guidance. The red priestess smirked to herself. She now knew what it was she was sent for.

Sansa Stark had to burn. That much was certain.


End file.
